Walk On
by hopel3ss desire69
Summary: Two people are connected before they meet. She understands his grief, and he gets her sorrow. Set in September 2004. Mac/Claire glimpses. Mac/OC friendship .
1. Blink

**A/N:** _This muse came to me when I listened to U2's song, 'Walk On', which reminded me of 9/11. I thought of Mac, and then after I watched the series premiere, I decided what the hay, I'll give it a shot. There currently are no pairings. Just Mac/Claire glimpses. Hope you enjoy._

**Disclaimer:** CSI:NY belongs to CBS.

**Chapter one:** _Blink_

* * *

Tuesday. September 6th, 2004. 8-10 P.M.

_"Mac."_

Her voice was all he ever heard now that she was gone. He'd sit in his office and stare at a file, hoping it would take his mind off her. He avoided his apartment on purpose. Every inch of what he used to call home was filled with her memories. He slept on the couch in his office, and he ate whatever food Stella left in the break room fridge for him.

Sometimes, if he didn't sleep enough, he'd start to hallucinate. He'd see her sitting in his chair, twirling in it as she waited for him to come into his office. He'd see her skipping down the street, see her laughing at someone in the lab.

She only visited the lab twice, but he still saw her wandering the halls. He figured it was better than sleeping, though. Because whenever he slept he had nightmares. The nightmares were worse than seeing her wander the lab. He would dream of 9/11. He'd dream of all the horrible ways she could have died. Did she give up and jump out of the 14th story to her death? Did the plane actually hit her? Did she catch on fire? Did she get stuck in an elevator? Had she taken the stairs? Did those collapse underneath her feet? Had she survived the first day? Did she suffer?

All questions he'd never be able to have an answer.

September 11th, 2004 was easing its way into Mac's calendar. Just five more days until he'd come across the 3rd anniversary of Claire's death.

His hands were shaking as he sat down at his desk. He lifted up the manila folder that sat in the center, waiting to be opened. He pushed it to the side, and picked up the black pen that lie in front of his computer. He looked at the calendar that lay on his desk, and blinked once, twice, three times before he made an X on the block with the number 6 sitting neatly in the left hand corner.

"Five more days," he mumbled to himself, brining his attention to the manila folder once more. He set it in the center of his desk, and with one swift movement, opened the case file. A serial case, it looks like. Two women brutally killed, and a third one never to leave the hospital, caused by a Russian "doctor".

The ones with the women were always the ones that got to him. Sometimes, he could see Claire's face in them. He knew when he didn't sleep this would be the result, but he was scared of sleep. Some doctors would say he had chronic insomnia. Maybe they were right. His opinion? He just didn't want to see his wife dieing as he watched helplessly in his nightmares.

There was a knock at his door. He looked up from the file, and nodded his head for Stella to come into his office. He knew by the look on her face she was going to make him go home and sleep.

"Go home," she demanded.

"No," he shook his head. "I'll take five in a few."

Stella nodded her head. "Take five in your home, Mac."

"Claire's home," he corrected her. "Take five in Claire's home. No thank you, Stella. My couch is comfy enough."

"I've got a spare bedroom."

"No thanks." He stood up from his desk, closed the folder, turned off his computer, and headed out of his office, leaving Stella in the dark.

His destination was Angel of Mercy hospital, where Jane Doe lie brain dead. He found himself spilling his guts to a woman who couldn't hear him. As he sat in the cold hard plastic chair beside her bed, he became vulnerable. She was about to know all of his secrets. This was a first for him, dead or alive, that he would tell someone how he was coping with his wife's death.

He let out a sigh of desperation. Something in this woman made him see Claire made him think of Claire. Made him realize he still needs Claire.

"I'm so tired," he told Jane Doe, as he watched the machines move her chest up and down. "I used to sit like this with my wife. Her name was Claire." He bit the inside of his cheek before he continued.

"She died. On 9/11. No body saw it coming…I was cleaning out the closet, and I found this beach ball. I remembered it was my wife who blew it up. I got rid of everything that reminded me of Claire. Too painful. One thing I couldn't throw away was that beach ball. Her breath was still in there."

A moment later, a doctor came in, and asked if he was ready to let the woman go. He nodded his head, and left the room, only to find himself climbing into a cab leading him to Ground Zero.

He leaned against the metal bars barricading Ground Zero. He let the coldness of them run against his hands, his cheek, his nose, and he closed his eyes.

_Claire._

Her body would be cold right now wherever she was in that wreck. He wished he could wrap his arms around her like he always did when she complained she was cold. He wished he could offer her hot chocolate with marshmallows. Her favorite.

* * *

_"Carmela."_

His voice was always dancing in her mind. It was so angelic. If she closed her eyes, and squeezed them tight enough, she could feel his fingertips running up her spine, his breath lingering in her ear, the feel of his hands playing with her long dark hair.

She could still see the creases in his face when he smiled. She could feel his cheek press against her belly in an attempt to hear the baby. She could hear his laugh whenever she got a paper cut opening the cereal box, or when she repeatedly stubbed her toe on the corner of the bathroom door.

_"Te amo, clumsy baby,"_ he always laughed, and he always kissed her in the same spot on her neck.

As she stood looking at Ground Zero, she couldn't help but cry. Her fiancé, her _amante_, was somewhere in there.

In five days, she'd be standing in this exact spot, thinking the same thoughts she was at this very moment. _Why'd you have to go?_ She reached into her pocket, pulled out a note, and reached her hand through the metal bars that acted as a fence. She dropped the note, and walked away, tears flooding her vision.

She headed towards home, but stopped at a bar called Cozy's. The name had caught her attention. She slipped inside, and sat at a table. It seemed to be some sort of place to perform. A man stepped onto the stage in front of her, and began singing. Jazz. She thought about bringing her guitar and singing a few songs when she could get some free time.

After a few beers, she headed back out onto the streets. She needed to get home. The baby was probably getting anxious without her there, and the babysitter was probably pulling her hair out by now.

* * *

He opened his eyes, and noticed a piece of paper on the opposite side of the bars. He knelt down, and reached his hand through the bars, grabbing the paper. When he unfolded it, he noticed the words were written in Italian.

_Amo e manchi, il mio eroe. Sempre nel mio cuore. La vostra figlia è bella, amante._

He didn't know Italian, but he knew a little bit of Spanish. The words _amo_, and _amante_, were love in some form. _Bella _meant beautiful. Danny had said it before. He guessed it was a note to a loved one lost in 9/11. Someone, somewhere else was feeling the same thing he was at this moment. He knew that because this note was fresh. It had just been put down on the cold ground.

He refolded the note, and placed it back where he found it. "_Amante",_ he said out loud. "I love you," he whispered. A single tear dripped from his eye, down his cheek, and landed on the folded sheet of paper that lie by his feet.

* * *

**The Italian Translations: **

_Te amo:_ I love you

_Amante:_ Lover

_Amo e manchi, il mio eroe. Sempre nel mio cuore. La vostra figlia è bella, amante_: I love and miss you, my hero. Always in my heart. Your daughter is beautiful, lover.


	2. Two people

**A/N:** _It's been awhile. It was really hard to figure out how to right the second chapter, but finally here it is!! _

**Disclamer: **_All CSI characters belong to CBS. _

**Chapter 2: **_Two people _

_

* * *

_

_Wednesday, September 7__th__, 2004. 9P.M. _

She watched his hands move up and down on his bass guitar. The music was soothing for yet another shitty day at work. She downed a glass of red wine, and was already finishing her second, ready to move onto something stronger to keep her tears from falling.

Carmella closed her eyes, and swayed to the rhythm that the musicians were creating in front of her. _Nicky would have liked this_, she thought to herself. She opened her eyes, and waved her hand, trying to get the bartender's attention.

The young blond kid had hurried over to her, a smile on his face. "More wine?" he asked, taking her glass.

"Make it a scotch," she replied. She brushed her dark hair from her face, and turned back to the music group. They were all making their own dance moves, all smiles, all happy. Except one face that stuck out from the rest. A tired face, an older more complex face was looking right at her. She could tell by the bags under his eyes, no sleep crossed his pattern of living. That the smile on his face was a sad smile. A desperate smile that seemed to be there only to make people think he was having the time of his life.

He reminded Carmela of herself.

She shook the thought from her head, and smiled when the waiter brought back her drink. A drink that she downed in four seconds, before leaving the bar to go home to her daughter.

* * *

_Thursday, September 8__th__, 2004. 12 P.M._

Carmela Ferrari sat on her couch, her three-year-old daughter, Tessa Rossi, asleep under her armpit, a stuffed polar bear in her arms, and her right thumb in her mouth. Carmela was told on a daily basis that her daughter looked just like her, but she knew Tess was her father from head to toe.

Her thoughts had been interrupted when she heard a knock at the door. She slowly wiggled her way free from the coach without waking Tessa, and headed towards the front door. "Who is it?" she asked, standing by the door waiting for an answer.

"NYPD," a man's voice spoke. "We've got a few questions for…Carmela Rossi?"

Carmela let out a groan, but unlocked the front door. "It's Ferrari," she corrected as she swung the door open. "What's up?"

Two men stood before her, both in suits. One was older than the other. He wore a white shirt with a black solid tie, while the younger man wore a funky tie with a solid shirt, and a leather jacket, his hair slicked back. But both carried themselves in the same way.

"Miss Ferrari," the older man nodded his head. "We have a few questions about your neighbor, Matthew Jacobs?"

"Is he alright?" Carmela asked, stepping aside to allow the two officers into her home.

"He's dead, ma'am," Flack said, following Mac into the home. "I'm Detective Flack, and this is Detective Taylor. Did you hear anything odd last night?"

Carmela shook her head, and glanced behind her towards the couch where her daughter was sleeping. "I…didn't get home until about midnight. I had a babysitter over, I could ask her if you'd like. She's coming back tonight around 5."

"Maybe your child heard something?" Mac asked, raising his eyebrows. "Is he here?"

"She. And I highly doubt she'd be a good witness. She's just barely three. Her bed time is eight. Ugh, she did mention a monster though. I got her from her crib this morning and she asked me if the monster was still here. I figured she was talking about the babysitter's boyfriend." Carmela bit the inside of her cheek as she watched Mac. He had looked familiar to her, but she couldn't figure it out.

"Boyfriend?" Flack asked, raising an eyebrow. "You allow him to come here?"

Carmela shook her head. "I don't but we all know she sneaks him over. And I'm not gonna find a sitter as cheap as her that doesn't make my baby cry. So as long as the house isn't trashed, they don't drink smoke or have sex, what's it hurting?"

"Right. Did you know Mr. Jacobs well?" Mac asked, changing the subject.

"No," Carmela shook her head. "My fiancé did. He used to help Jacobs with his roofing business on his days off for a few extra bucks. But that was years ago."

"Could we speak with your fiancé?"

Carmela shook her head and bit her lip. "He's dead."

"Was he murdered as well?" Flack asked, wondering if the two cases could be connected. The woman in front of him let out a snort, as if she found what he had just asked to be funny.

She wanted to tell him yes. Her fiancé had been murdered, and if he found the terrorists that killed the love of her life, she'd like to know so she could kill the mother fuckers herself.

"No," she whispered.

"Do you mind if we ask your daughter just a few questions ma'am?" Mac asked.

Carmela nodded her head. She knew the procedures. Nicky had done this before, and he always came home to describe to her about his day. She knew it wasn't because they thought the babysitter or herself could be involved, but because they needed to know all the little details. "Let me wake her-" Carmela stopped speaking at the sound of her daughter jumping off the bed, and running in the direction of her mother. "Hey princess," Carmela smiled, picking up the little girl. She wiped her sweaty dark hair from her face, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "This is Mr. Flack and Mr. Taylor. Do you remember what Daddy does, baby?"

The little girl nodded her head, a smile on her face as she looked at the two men standing before her.

"Daddy catched bad people!" The little girl smiled, setting her thumb in her mouth. She turned towards her mother, and then back to the people standing in front of her. "Mommy no bad."

"No," Carmela shook her head. "Mr. Taylor has some questions for you. Daddy asks people questions to find the bad guys. Do you think you could answer his questions, baby?"

"So he find bad guys?" she asked, and watched her mom nod her head. "Okay, Momma. I like questions."

"Alright," Carmela smiled.

"Hi sweetie," Flack smiled. "What's your name?"

"Tessie Marie Ferrari Rossi!" The little girl exclaimed clapping her hands together in excitement. "I got 2 wast names." She smiled, holding out two fingers. "You call me Tess dough."

"Okay Tess," Flack smiled. "Did your babysitter take you to the park last night?"

Tess shook her head. "Ice cream."

"Did you see any bad people?"

"Monsters?" Carmela sighed when Tess wouldn't answer the man.

Tess nodded her head. "A green monster. Very mad! He was yelling at us! And Missy Lawren yelleded back. She said weave us alone Mister!" Tess shook her index finger in front of Flack's nose.

"Did he go away?"

Tess looked at her mother and then at Flack for an explanation.

"Did he go bye-byes?" Carmela asked Tess.

"Oh!," Tess said, pretending like she understood what Flack had asked. "Yes go bye-byes. Bye-bye Monster! He gone. All done, Momma?"

"All done, Love," Carmela said, letting Tess on the floor. "Go play with your blocks." After Tess hurried away, Carmela turned back to the two detectives. "Do you think Lauren's got something to do with this?"

Mac shook his head. "I'm not able to discuss this with you, ma'am. We would like to question her though."

"Like I said. She'll be here around five. I won't be though. She'll get here around five and cook dinner for Tess before she picks her up at daycare."

"And where will you be, ma'am?" Flack asked.

"Work. I'm a shift worker. Today, it's 4-2's."

"Okay. Thank you for your time," Mac said heading out the door, Flack following behind him. Carmela shut the door behind the officers, and then turned to the living room to play with her daughter.

* * *

_Saturday, September 10__th__, 2004. 11 P.M._

_ One last place before home_, Carmela thought as she headed towards the World Trade Center. Lauren hadn't been a part of Matthew Jacobs murder, thankfully She wouldn't have to find another sitter, but she did forbid the young woman to leave her apartment from then on. And if Tessa told her otherwise, well then Lauren would be fired.

She let out a sigh, as she rested her head on the cold metal bars. "Hey," she whispered, closing her eyes. "Tessa's getting so big, baby. She looks just like you." Carmela stopped speak when she heard footsteps behind her. Someone else had come to mourn as well. She opened one eye, and turned towards the noise, a smile crossing her face. "Detective Taylor," she said, stepping back from the bars.

"Mac," Mac told her, his hands in his pockets. "I thought you looked familiar," he started. "I've seen you in Cozy's once."

Carmela nodded her head. "I've only been there twice. It's a relaxing place."

Mac nodded his head, and bit his lip as he debated on asking her I she'd like to go with him. She must have figured that's what he was thinking because she had nodded her head, and said "Sure."

The two had walked in quiet as they headed for Cozy's, and when they arrived, Mac had pulled out a high top chair for Carmela. He had gone to the bartender and ordered them drinks, and came back in just a few short minutes though the bar was packed. It was one of the advantages of being a musician that volunteered to play there when he could. Free performances meant quick service, and discounts. "So…" Mac had said, forgetting her name, as he sat opposite her.

"Cam," she informed him. "It's Cam."

"Cam," he smiled.

"My fiancé died on 9/11," she told him, breaking the silence. She glanced at the wedding ring on his left hand. "Your wife too?"

Mac glanced at his hand, and quickly pulled it under the table. He felt bad for talking to Cam. He felt bad for sitting with another woman, and he sure as hell felt bad for buying her a drink. But for some reason, his body had done everything he felt guilty for. But he nodded his head and gave her a shirt, "Yes."

Cam gave him a light smile, but didn't say anything. She was just glad to find someone who understood what had happened to her three years ago.

"Did he work there?" Mac finally asked Cam.

"No," Cam shook her head. "He was a homicide detective. Ex marine. He…he felt like he had to help. So he did. And he didn't make it out. That's what they think anyway."

"What do you think?"

Cam shook her head again. "To be honest? I come up with different things everyday. Sometimes….I just wish that he left us. That he got scared, and he found the perfect opportunity to leave us. But I know, that's ridiculous to think." She glanced at her own ring finger, the engagement ring still on her finger. "What I really think though?" She asked, looking back up at Mac who nodded his head for her to continue. "He saved a little girl's life. I know that for a fact. She wrote me a thank you card. But I think he got greedy. One life wasn't enough. So he went back to try and save someone else. And he stayed with someone who was stuck somewhere. Nicky would do that. He'd put his life at risk to comfort someone else. What about you? What do you think?"

Mac shook his head, and bit the inside of his cheek in concentration. He hated thinking, but he did. 24/7 he thought of Claire. And it felt good to know someone who thought 24/7 with him. "I think horrible things," he admitted. "I just wanted to know if she suffered. But I won't know that."

"It sucks," Carmela agreed, finishing her glass of wine. "I'd really love to stay and talk more. But I've got to get home to Tessa."

Mac nodded his head. Carmela stood up, wondering if he'd ask to walk her home. But he hadn't. Instead he had handed her his business card so they could get together on a different date. And talk about their dead partners together.

* * *

_Alright thanks to **hope4sall** and **BlueEyedAuthor**. Also, first chapter I messed up a bit of the Italian translation. I apologize! I cheated and used an online translator. Didi helped me. It should have been:_

**The correct translation for I love and miss you , my hero is: ti amo e mi manchi, mio eroe and your daughter is beautiful, lover will be translated with; tua figlia è bella, il tuo amore.**


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